


Below the Stratosphere

by hooksandheroics



Series: we're different and the same [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutants au, ahh powers and mutations, and clarke as a vacuum, bellamy as an absorber, exes trying again, kissing and stuff, some angst if you like squint really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3949093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke hates Bellamy Blake - and she may be the only one. He is a legend, after all.</p><p>(Or that AU where Clarke and Bellamy are exes, broken up by war, and are reluctant to try again. Oh, and there are powers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Below the Stratosphere

**Author's Note:**

> I watched too much Heroes back when it was the best thing on TV (in my opinion, of course), and so had referenced the abilities the delinquents have in this.

Clarke hates knowing Bellamy Blake.

For so many damned reasons, but mainly because he’s an Absorber, and she hates it when he saves her ass every damn time.  (Absorbers are the assholes of the mutant community, even if Clarke only knows one. She’s pretty sure he’s a shame to his kind and the whole community. Even if he’s practically legend to their community now. The jerk.)

His ability, his Intuitive Aptitude, allows him to copy or mimic any mutant ability he so chooses to acquire only by _talking_ with the person he wants to acquire it from. Like yesterday, he spoke with a telepath named David and now he’s flaunting it to their friends by hitting on as many girls as he can just to prove that his newly coveted mind-reading skills truly work, the asshole. Not that she thinks he’s an asshole because she’s jealous, no siree; it’s just because he’s a player and those poor girls don’t know who he truly is. An asshole.

And also, he’s a jerk because he comes back to their table with another napkin with a hastily scribbled phone number on it and a smug look on his face, and then he has the audacity to look straight to her as if his victory is her loss – which, no.

She hates Bellamy Blake.

And she has lots of other reasons, too, especially now that she’s taken to sitting at the bar nursing her rum and coke, and a dirty-looking sleazebag decided to sidle up next to her with a clearly drunk-out-of-his-wits grin and a hand on her thigh a little too high to be considered _friendly_. She wishes now, more than ever, that her ability wasn’t the defenseless kind. Maybe it can morph into fire-breathing or ice-spewing by sheer willpower instead of having an ability vacuum as a power, but she doesn’t have the time when the sleazebag’s hand travels farther up. She brushes it away with a glare, but the prick just smiles at her and returns his hand.

She yells in her head for Bellamy because it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and because she knows he can hear her even with the ruckus of the bar. He’s talented like that, and that’s something she would never admit.

_‘Fucking Blake, come get me, there’s a douchebag here that I will murder if he doesn’t get his hand off me.’_

She doesn’t even get to finish that screaming thought when she feels a steady hand on her bare shoulder (she shivers, she really shouldn’t have gone with a sleeveless blouse because it’s fucking cold). “Hey, babe,” he says, loud enough for anyone in their one mile radius to hear. “Everything alright here?”

Clarke feels a surge of unwanted nostalgia as Bellamy pins the guy down with his faux-innocent stare, one that’s blatantly clear about his fake-but-superbly-acted possessiveness. This one, he’s got down to pat with his and Clarke’s history swimming to the surface. She would have pushed him away and maybe, turned off his power as retaliation, but tonight, she’s glad he’s there – even when it’s to relive their failed relationship just so he can get her out of this sticky situation.

She bends her neck up to look at him with gratitude, one that he returns with a genuine smile before letting his eyes turn gold and turning his vicious glare at the guy. She returns her gaze to the drunken trash and sees him widen his eyes as he realizes what the golden rings in Bellamy’s eyes meant.

“Freaks!” he squeaks rather pathetically at both of them. Yep, definitely human. She knows so, because when you’re a freak, you don’t call out your fellow freaks in fear of being branded hypocritical (and also because she can’t sense anything mutant about him, but mostly the first statement).

He scampers up and away, stumbling through the crowd with barely a glance back at them, and Clarke sighs a breath of relief.

Bellamy takes the seat to her left and looks over at her, his possessiveness gradually melting into concern. Which is also one of the reasons why Clarke hates him – he’s just a big dumb puppy. Especially now that he has his lycanthropic eyes still out – one he got when he talked to Lincoln, along with the ability to turn into a big-ass wolf. (She’s seen it countless of times during combat training. She hates it.)

“Thank you, uh,” she says, motioning to her own eyes. “You still got the – wolf eyes.”

His brows rise at the realization before closing his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re back to their usual shade of brown that Clarke used to love (still loves). He grants her this wide, genuine smile that makes her smile in return, only to realize belatedly that his telepathic ability is still on.

She turns it off and his grin melts into an affronted frown. “You didn’t have to do that, I wasn’t snooping around or anything –

She scoffs at this. “Yeah, you may have also forgotten that my vacuum comes with a lie detector,” she says, flicking the straw of her drink at him, and he blinks as the droplets land on him.

He bites his lip in an attempt to stop his smile, but it’s still there. “So,” he drawls. “You still love my eyes?”

She rolls her own at him, going back to sipping her drink and ignoring him. But he’s still sitting there, still grinning at her, still stubbornly sweet with his soft eyes and his dumb concern over her. “No,” she finally replies when his gaze becomes a tad bit too much to ignore.

“Lie,” he declares. “And I don’t even have my telepathy on. You’re so bad at this.”

“Fine, whatever. It’s not like I can erase everything just because we broke up.”

“Clarke,” he starts, and leans forward. “I’m sorry.”

The playful mood dissipates like smoke, and now she’s left with nothing but a clearness that she so did not go to the bar for.

“I know you are,” she replies, her gaze focusing on anywhere but him. If she takes one look at his eyes, even without the telepathy or some other ability, she _will_ fall for him all over again, and she’s had enough of that in the past six months following their messy break up. “You can stop saying it now, it’s been months.”

“Six months, two weeks, and a day,” he mutters absently, and that catches her attention. “I haven’t forgotten completely, Clarke. And I wish it didn’t end that way. I wish it didn’t end, at all. But –

“But it has to, I know,” she cuts in. “I understand that now. The War had its toll. Our – whatever we had, it’s not worth the whole world crumbling to dust.”

How many times had she repeated this in her head?

The War had been brutal – albeit short, and it was the most terrifying year for both the mutants and the humans who support them alike. And even if Bellamy wasn’t born with one of the rarest abilities to date, he would still have gotten himself into the battles. But seeing as he _was_ born with it, he found himself being offered a position in the corps – a vital part, one of the only people who can stop the deaths of the innocents. It’s something they all know he could never refuse.

She hated Bellamy Blake because of this.

She hated him because he thought risking his own life for the people who had done nothing but give them shit is worth it, because he’s a selfless ass, because he thought his life was expendable. But mainly, and possibly the most selfish reason, was because he left and she didn’t know if he’d ever return to them alive.

But then he did, and she was glad, but also very pissed.

Which is why they’re back to square one.

“I _am_ sorry,” he repeats. “And I’m never going to stop until you believe that I am. But also… I’m never going to stop the teasing just because it’s fun having you use your powers on me.”

Yeah, alright, this is also one of the reasons why she hates Bellamy Blake.

All their lives, she has been wary of what it might entail if she let Bellamy in on the secrets of her abilities. Even before the dating part, she had never talked to him about it in fear of maybe triggering something – like maybe making him the most powerful mutant in the whole wide world. Like in the comics. Or some shit like that.

In all honesty, though, she doesn’t know exactly how many abilities he has already acquired, and if they were stored in him like books in a library he owns to himself, ready for his beck and call, or if they fade away with time. She also does not know which ability he has to acquire to grant him the ultimate power. Her choice of not talking about her powers entails him not talking about his – and at the time, it seemed fair.

But as they progressed, she found that like the little she knows about the few Absorbers in record, he is as thirsty for knowledge as them. Proof to that are the times he would goad her on until she put a pause on his aptitude. Even then, he’d try to understand her without the use of his mutation, like he thinks he can understand her without his abilities, with his normal brain.

She found this annoying. (And endearing, but that’s beside the point.)

“Are you still trying to figure me out, Blake?” she deadpans him with an indifferent stare, and he, in turn, grins at her, all bright and open and honest.

“You know I never really stopped, princess,” he replies, confident, as if he wants her to tell him he’s telling the truth. To further his point, he leans forward until they’re face to face, his eyes boring into hers like a challenge.

And she would have loved it like this – all fire and spikes between them, just like the first time they met, when he stole his sister’s speed just to mess with her focus, totally aware that her abilities were only as good as her concentration (she’s come a long way since then, training every day with the people at the Ark, and with her friends, and she’s learned how to block speedsters). But this – this banter, this bark with no bite, this _was_ natural to them before he left for war.

Now, it just hurt because just like before, she never really thought she would end up befriending him. And then, it slowly became _Bellamy and Clarke_ , the two of them, partners in crime – well not _crime_ , really, but they trained together, and spent time together. And then they kissed. And then she fell for him. Hard. So hard that when he left, she thought she could never recover.

Of course it makes her fear for the _now_ , when they’re back to where they started. One way or another, this would end up the way it did six months ago. They’ll fight and they’ll fall and then he’ll leave – or this time, maybe she will. It just feels like only a matter of time before –

“I know a quiet place where you can scream and punch your way until I bleed to death,” he offers, almost too quietly. She notices his eyes, soft and understanding and vulnerable – right. She let him have his telepathy back a few minutes ago.

“You can’t bleed to death,” she retorts, looking away and blinking rapidly. Stupid tears. “You stole that from that one girl in your Rare Abilities class.”

“I didn’t steal – look, do you want to come with me or not?” he says, his exasperation mild. His hand is outstretched towards him, his face hopeful and nonchalant at the same time.

She sighs.

The bar is too loud and she’s had one too many a drink, not really, but enough to make her uncomfortable in a place with too many people. Their friends are alright and no one’s going to notice if she’s gone, and for the first time in a long time, she feels like she wants to explode. Or get far away.

She takes his hand, hopes for the best, and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, they’re at a rooftop, and he’s grinning at her, his face lit up with the lights illuminating a lone billboard about a soup and some dogs.

“This is my apartment building,” she says bluntly, sparing him a glance before walking over to the walled edge.

“I figured, if you passed out on me I can just carry you down a flight of stairs,” he tries, and gives her his most ‘I-don’t-really-care’ grin.

“You teleport, idiot,” she retorts, smiling a little. There were many nights when he did just that, just because when she gets drunk her vacuum goes haywire and she accidentally turns his powers off so he has no teleportation (thanks, Monroe), no super strength (from Raven), and no intuitive aptitude – just pure human strength and will. “And I’m not _that_ drunk.”

She returns her gaze to him and finds him with his head ducked as he kicks at a rusty can near his foot.

“Colors,” she starts, and he looks up. He’s not using his powers, and she knows it. This is why she hates him, he’s an asshole most of the time, but he’s the chivalrous gentleman that the books say is extinct when it truly counts.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned to a frown.

“My vacuum – it’s like some sort of synesthesia, but with powers, I think,” she replies, giving him a small encouraging smile as she walks towards where he seems frozen in place. “I can see if people are using their abilities. They glow a certain hue. Each person, different color. Different shade.

“Your sister, for example,” she continues, and is rewarded with a fond smile. “She’s a calm orange when she’s with friends, but when her adrenaline levels increase, she turns a bright shade of red, angry and malevolent.”

His eyes widen and he realizes what’s happening.

“Her legs are the brightest when she’s running,” she explains. “Miller, on the other hand, his hands turn cerulean when he uses his electrokinesis, but he’s a sky blue when neutral. Monty’s eyes turn lavender when he’s memorizing codes, almost an ashen purple when he’s resting. I haven’t seen Monroe’s when she’s agitated but –

“Me?” he asks, curious and open, so much like a child that when he steps forward until he’s in front of her, she finds him oddly calming in a way that she’s only felt before the War.

She smiles up at him and grabs his hand, his open palm facing up. Her fingers trace the lines on his hand, choosing to pay little mind to his small intake of breath, and instead tries to whirl the wisps of gray emitting from his skin. His shade. “Did you know that when the War was on its last day, the skies turned black –

“It – it wasn’t –

“To me, at least,” she sighs. “Your mutation, your ability, whatever it was that you chose to unleash that day, it was so powerful I felt it here in New York. And then when it faded, I thought you were – I thought you died. I have never wished for a dark day as much as I did then.”

“Clarke,” he breathes, and he is so close, the heaviness of his loaded stare weighing in her chest, pulling at her gut, but she soldiers on.

“You’re gray, the color of the gloomy city skyline when it’s raining,” she continues. “And then, you turn the darkest shade I have ever seen in my entire life when you use your full force. It’s scary. But you know what’s even scarier?”

He blinks, his head tilts in confusion, and his lips part. “What?” he asks, low and rough.

“You’re neither of those colors now,” she smiles at him, and his pupils dilate. She knows this look – this is his hunger for knowledge, his thirst for something that he cannot find in books and records. She feels hot all over, just knowing that he’s looking at her like a starving man. His breathing turns erratic, and his color burns brighter, gradual and slow. “You’re white – almost luminescent,” she finally says, her own voice quiet and breathless. “When you’re hungry, craving, you make a complete 180 and you…”

“I… what?” he breathes against her skin, her lips, and she surprises both of them when she takes the last step so that she’s pressed up against him. Her hands drop his in favor of snaking her arms around his neck until her fingers can grasp at his hair. She tugs lightly, his chin tilting up a little, his throat bobbing in a swallow.

His arms go around her waist, pulling her even closer.

“You blind me,” she whispers. And then he’s kissing her, his lips insistent against hers – a hunger borne from the six months of stolen glances, and heated stares from across rooms; borne from twitching fingers too scared and hurt to reach out.

He backs her up against the wall, the edge digging into her back, but she couldn’t mind – not when he’s pressed up against her and she can feel all of him. Not when his hands are skimming up her sides, leaving her burning under her clothes. She opens her mouth to his tongue, swallows his low groan when she tugs at his hair, this time a little firmer than before.

They part for air, but she didn’t get enough in her because he’s already kissing down her jaw, down her neck, murmuring words against her skin.

“What?” she asks, distracted by his touch.

“I – I never meant to learn your vacuum. I just – I,” he detaches his lips from her neck and looks up at her, his eyes dazed and dark, but apologetic. “I wanted to understand you. I wanted to _know_ you.”

She smiles at him. “I know, Bellamy,” she says, and then she’s the one kissing him instead. (Although it’s a bit hard with their smiling mouths, but then she gets impatient and orders him to teleport them to her room – he obliges.)

* * *

 

She wakes up to Bellamy on his stomach, facing her, his eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed – unlike when he’s awake, when he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. She traces the calm gray on his back, like smoke dancing in the air in time with his breathing, her cheek pressed against the softness of her pillow, where she tries hard to hide her smile.

He scrunches up his nose, eyes still sleep-shut, and sniffs petulantly – like a child being woken up too early for a non-school day.  She giggles at this, not really trying to be quiet herself.

When he opens his eyes, still bleary and sleepy, he smiles. “I love that sound.”

“What, your snoring? I _knew_ you’re a bit narcissistic, but I didn’t know it stretched as far as admiring your own snore –

“Shut up,” he retorts, and she loves him like this. He’s slow and content and not snarky in the early morning, so she has the time to think for good comebacks, while he just spews whatever stupid reply comes to mind first. She loves that she wins their early morning banters.

His arm snakes around her waist and pulls her closer, their noses almost touching. She slings her naked leg around his hips, and then her arm around his back – content, sated, relaxed. She leans forward, desire already fueling her limbs, but then he pulls back with a playful smile.

“You want this?” he asks quietly, his eyes never leaving hers.

She wants to think this through – even more than she probably already had in the last six months, but there really is no use in denying what’s already fated. If she’s doomed to fall for Bellamy Blake, Absorber-extraordinaire, overbearing brother, legend, then there’s no fighting it. (She wants to say she has no choice, but then she’d be kidding herself. She’d choose him, even if the world’s too heavy and too big for them. Even if she knows that when he opens his arms to her, he gathers the world in them with her.)

“Yeah,” she replies finally.

“I love you,” he says, one breath escaping his lungs, straight into her chest where her heart squeezes sweetly.

She nods, “I know.”

He growls and pulls her closer until his lips are closing against hers, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip until she feels heat melt the tension in her body, until she’s wanting – craving. Until the words are ready at the tip of her tongue. She pulls back and rests her forehead against his, still breathing heavily.

“I love you, too.”

Yeah, alright. She doesn’t hate Bellamy Blake.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment or a kudos before you leave. :)) Or you can yell at me on tumblr, I'm [hooksandheroics](http://hooksandheroics.tumblr.com) there!


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